


Palmer's Plants

by killerofcanon



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: AU, Drama & Romance, FlowerShopAU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerofcanon/pseuds/killerofcanon
Summary: Cecil owns a flower shop with his sister, Abby, but has bigger dreams for the future. A mysterious stranger comes into the shop one day, and Cecil can't keep his mind off of him. [ABANDONED]





	1. The New Customer

Cecil was sitting on a stool in the flower shop he owned with his sister, Abby. Palmer’s Plants. It was called Palmer’s Plants, even though they only sold flowers. Cecil desperately wanted to expand their stock to more than just flowers, like Venus Fly Traps or herbs. He had big dreams of owning a large garden superstore, and making Palmer’s Plants a household name. He didn’t care how unusual it was for a flower shop to be a household name, he was going to find a way. It was his dream, after all.  


While he sat on the old, wobbly wooden stool behind the counter, a little bell rang announcing a new customer. Business had been slow for the past few days, but that was to be expected. It was the week after Valentine’s Day, which means everyone had already spent their flower budget for a while. So Cecil diligently sat behind the counter and stared out the store front windows, wishing someone dashingly handsome with titillating conversation would come through the door.  


“Hi, can you tell me about your cheapest flower?” The customer asked. Cecil perked up, his posture suddenly returning to the way it was before all of his days of sulking on a stool. It wasn’t the request that struck him- plenty of cheapskates didn’t want to splurge on a romantic gesture, or for their mother in the nursing home. No, the request was normal- but the customer. He had skin darker than tan, carmelly, and hair blacker than coal. When he spoke, his words formed a smile even when it seemed unlikely, and Cecil saw perfect, white teeth flash his way. The hair was not only black but perfectly styled, or maybe unstyled, and just naturally that… perfect. The man wore a simple, untucked baby blue button down and dark wash, undistressed jeans that fit his thighs well. Not that Cecil noticed, except he totally did.  


“Excuse me?” The man said, tilting his head to get Cecil’s attention. He was not impatient, but kind.  


“Oh, yes. Cheapest flower. If you’re looking for something more economical, we have some beautiful faux-flower options,” Cecil said, pointing to the display behind him.  


“No, that’s not it. I need something real? Like, a living plant. If you have anything that isn’t a flower, that would be fine too.”  


“No, we just sell flowers.”  


“Aw, really? You should expand. Palmer’s Plants. But anyway. I’m going for quantity over appearance, actually.”  


“Okay, let me see… are they for anyone special?”  


“Special? Oh, no. Nobody. Just, um… it’s complicated. I just need as many of your cheapest flower that…” The man thrusted a hand into his pants pocket and came out with several coins which he then counted quickly. “...forty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents.”  


“That doesn’t look like forty-seven dollars,” Cecil commented on the dozen or so coins in the man’s palm.  


“This is the eighty-three cents,” The man said with a glowing smile. Cecil felt his heart skip a beat.  


“Okay…” Cecil thought about the request and looked at the displays behind him. “Well, we have a two-dozen mixed flower bouquet for forty-four dollars and forty nine cents. It includes daffodils, hydrangeas, and a few accent roses.”  


“Sounds perfect. And I can still put three dollars towards my next bouquet,” The man said cheerfully.  


“What’s the occasion?” Cecil asked, trying to find the most professional way to pry into the life of this ridiculously attractive man that had waltzed into his shop.  


“I, er- it’s still complicated,” He said sheepishly. Cecil took the lucky bouquet and set it on the counter, then pulled his notepad out of his self-tie-dyed-apron. He didn’t need to wear an apron, but he liked having a uniform, even if it was rainbow and he rainbow’d it himself.  


“Can I get a name for the order?”  


“Oh, yeah, it’s Carlos,” The customer said. Cecil finished writing down the order on his notepad along with Carlos’s name. He motioned for Carlos to follow him to the cash register so he could ring him up.  


“Oh, hold on a minute. There’s a little fifty percent off first purchase coupon in my apron pocket,” Cecil lied, and tapped on the register to manually bring the total down to half price.  


“Awesome! Now I can splurge and get a coffee,” Carlos celebrated and handed over the cash. Cecil smiled at his cheer.  


“Here’s your flowers, and here’s your receipt,” Cecil said. The man reached for the receipt, but Cecil pulled his hand back last minute. “Actually- hold on.”  


“Oh, okay,” Carlos said, slightly confused. Cecil took the receipt, found a pen in his apron, and wrote his cell phone number on the receipt along with a little smiley face. Writing “call me” was so cliche. He handed the receipt to Carlos, who stuffed it into his pocket without looking. Cecil winced internally. That is probably not gonna happen, he thought to himself. Carlos walked out, and Cecil watched him go until he was completely out of sight, and then let out the breath he realized he’d been holding. A minute later, Abby came out of the back room, looking annoyed.  


“Why did I just get a transaction notification that you took fifty percent off an order for no reason?” She asked with arms folded across her chest.  


“Transaction notification?” He feigned ignorance. Abby furrowed her brow at him. “Okay, I’m sorry. But I had some real chemistry with this guy! I left my number on his receipt. You should have seen him- what a-”  


“Alright. Cecil. You can’t just throw out discounts to cute guys. This is the fourth receipt you’ve put a phone number on this quarter. I know you’re looking to find your own Steve…”  


“God, shoot me when that happens,” Cecil groaned thinking about Abby’s husband. She glared at him and kept going.  


“But this is not the way to do it. You should try going out somewhere single people go instead of sitting at the counter and moping.”  


“I’m not moping!” He protested, but she shrugged as if to say, “if you say so”. He sighed. “Fine. I’ll take the discount out of my paycheck.”  


“How about this: if the guy calls, you put the money back. If he doesn’t, you don’t.”  


“No, he probably won’t look at the receipt again. What’s the use. I’m going to die single,” Cecil complained melodramatically.  


“Cecil,” Abby took his hand in hers. “Keep your money, but go out somewhere and meet someone! You can’t complain if you don’t even try.”  


“I am trying! That’s the receipt-phone-number thing,” He insisted.  


“All you’re doing is making it awkward for the customers and driving our business away,” She said, harsh but probably true.  


“Okay, okay. You’ve convinced me. I’ll ‘leave the shop’ and go to a…” Cecil squinted trying to remember the kinds of places he went when he was young and confidently single instead of… now.  


“A club?” Abby finished for him.  


“Can you picture me at a club? I only drink white wine. Am I supposed to sit at the bar with a glass of chardonnay?”  


“I don’t care what you do when you get there.” She said in a way that declared she was done discussing it.


	2. So Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil takes his sister's advice.

Later that night, Cecil was in his bathroom. He lived in the loft above the flower shop. Abby was still downstairs in the shop managing inventory, but she would be going home to her real house soon. Meanwhile, Cecil stood front of his bathroom mirror trying to decide what to wear. He felt naked without his apron. He wore tie-dyed socks to replace it, but they didn’t provide that same security. They’d have to do, though. 

He settled on a patterned, short sleeved button down that used to be a deep indigo color, but had faded into something softer after years of gentle wear. And also the first clean pants he found in his dresser. This was his armor, and he was going into battle. He ran a comb through his hair, then fluffed it up with his fingers, and then combed it again, then fluffed it up again. 

“Looking sharp, Cecil,” He told his reflection. Just then, Abby knocked on the door. He opened it for her. 

“So, you’re going out?” 

“...Yes,” He said unconfidently. She patted his shoulder, and awkward, supportive sibling gesture. “Any good plans with Janice and… Steve tonight?” 

“Janice is sleeping over at a friend’s, so Steve and I are going to spend some quality time together.” 

“Your smile is too big while you say that. It’s grossing me out,” Cecil complained. Abby didn’t stop smiling, just slapped him on the back. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” She said. Cecil walked down the stairs, through the shop, and outside, then pulled out his phone to look at the directions again. He needed to go left, and then there was a club along the street. Not a great one, but good enough for his intentions, which were to kill time, maybe talk to a guy or two, and then be home-sober- by eleven. 

The club, he realized upon entering, was more of a bar. There was less dancing and more sitting, which he liked. He went and sat at the bar and ordered a water. To his complete shock, the bartender hadn’t even finished pouring the drink before someone approached Cecil. 

“Cecil Palmer?” A man said with the tone of an old friend. Cecil saw a man he had been good friends with in high school. 

“Earl?” He said, equally shocked to see Earl there as Earl was to see him. “How have you been?” Cecil didn’t notice he had been holding so much tension at the prospect of meeting someone new until a sensation of relief poured over him- talking to an old friend was so much better. 

“Good, good. Well- alright. Good now. What about you? How’s the family?” 

“Oh, everybody’s good- well, Abby is. She’s married, I have a niece- light of my life. Mom’s gone, though- the shop’s ours,” Cecil briefly caught Earl up on his family life. 

“Oh, Palmer’s Plants? You and Abby do that now?” 

“Yeah, it’s right down the street,” Cecil laughed, not at anything funny, but with emotion of the memories rushing back. “What brings you back in town?” 

“It’s crazy. I just found out I have a son! I mean, God. It feels like we were nineteen forever and I just magically jumped into full adulthood,” Earl ranted. 

“Oh, I know. I can’t even remember what year we graduated. It’s like time isn’t even real,” Cecil agreed. Earl laughed even though nothing was funny. 

They talked. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” Earl asked, pointing at his own bourbon. 

Cecil hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t like drinking.” 

“Get something that doesn’t taste like alcohol, then. You don’t have to try and impress me with hard liquor, Ceec. I know you better than that,” Earl said, but something underneath it sounded like a taunt. 

“You used to know me,” Cecil grumbled, half-smiling. He eyed Earl’s full glass, took it from his hand, and knocked back the shot. He dissolved into a coughing fit. “Oh, God, that’s awful. Why did you order battery acid?” 

Earl laughed heartily. 

Four more bourbons for Earl and three mixed drinks, two of them long island iced teas, for Cecil later… and they were drunk. They slunk off the bar seats and somewhere between the bar and the door their leaning for balance turned into gripping onto arms and sleeves, which quickly pressed them together at angles that would have been too awkward sober. They kissed outside of the bar, standing on the sidewalk in the deep dark night under hot street lamps. Hands gripped collars and waistbands and hair and they were pulling each other in the general direction of Palmer’s Plants. Cecil dropped his keys onto the pavement trying to fit them into the lock of his shop without breaking lips from Earl. 

“Oh- shit- I dropped the-” He stuttered in between furious attempts to not break the physical connection. He dropped down to pick them up and headbutted Earl on the way back up. 

Cecil thrusted the keys into the lock and jiggled it like he was breaking in to the place and eventually the door gave. He drunkenly guided Earl to the backroom, to the stairs up to the loft, into the bedroom, and they fell back onto the bed tangling themselves up into each other, inhibitions gone, nostalgia and old unsaid feelings crashed together like a meteor shower in time with their lips. Hands started to drift down when Cecil let out the first moan and- 

“Who the fuck is Carlos?” Earl shoved away and disconnected himself from Cecil. 

“Wh-what?” Cecil stuttered. 

“You didn’t say Earl, you said Carlos,” Earl said angrily. 

“No I didn’t,” Cecil denied. Both of their brains were hazy, but not that hazy. 

“Yes you fucking did. Who the hell is Carlos?” Earl was getting legitimately angry now. 

“H-He was a customer I met today, we talked for five minutes-” 

“I’ve wanted you since we were fucking teenagers, Cecil, a-and now we finally get together, a-and you’re thinking of some customer you’d rather be with than me!” Earl was shouting now. 

“Earl, please, I- I didn’t mean to!” 

“Yeah, that much I believe.” Earl was standing up now leaving Cecil out to dry, hair and clothes rustled, mouth agape- too drunk or too flustered to find the perfect words that could convince Earl to stay. But then, when he thought the word “perfect”, he thought of Carlos, that face, those teeth, that hair- 

“I’m leaving,” Earl shouted and slammed the bedroom door. Cecil was frozen for a long second before he jumped up, discomfort in his crotch subsiding as he tore off after Earl, almost tripping down the stairs. He had worried Earl would get lost on his way down, but by the time Cecil reached the shop, the bell had already stopped ringing from Earl swinging open the door and letting it close behind him. He stood there in his dark shop, alone, thirsty, drunk, tired. His mind tried to race but it tripped over its untied shoelaces. Cecil groggily dragged himself up to his bed and tried to ignore the imprint of Earl, his words hovering in the air, the meaning repeating itself over and over in Cecil’s head and changing the value of every youthful memory of Earl he still held.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted a fic in a year and a half because I've been working on original works, but I wanted to put this one out here. Maybe i'll pick this hobby back up. comments and kudos are appreciated, and i plan to complete this story, but we'll see! i hope you enjoy :)


End file.
